But Thou Must
by Antha The Dragon
Summary: "A hero's quest is a sad and tragic thing, but not for the reason that one normally expects." A short story about how Link reflects on his situation and how he came to be in it.


The green hatted boy made his way across the ruined landscape. If anyone other than him had been around, they may have mistaken him for a man; either because of the aged look in his eyes, the look that said he had lived long enough to see things that no man should, or perhaps because of his mask. The boy saw it as a mask, this body he wore, one of his adult self. But he was not a grown-up, he was a kid, but through no choice of his own, he had been forced to wear the mask.

Choices, that was something he was contemplating. When was the last time he had any choice or decision in his actions? It all felt so long ago, and the sad things was that it probably was. It was before he'd got this companion, that was for sure. Yes, that was probably the point when he'd surrendered his free will, when he had been awoken by his companion and had been forced to begin his quest.

But he did not blame his companion, no matter how irritating it was. Nor did he blame the overgrown plant that had thrust him out of his home in order to begin his journey. He didn't even blame the goddesses for the stigmata they had placed upon his hand. Well- he didn't blame them entirely. He blamed the fates mostly, but there was a face he put on the fates, on the goddesses on everyone that was trying to control him, make him continue his quest, that face was the face of the princess; the one who had forced him to collect the gems, and to kill to obtain them. Some might say she hadn't forced him, but she most certainly had.

Sure, she had asked for his assistance and he could have turned her down, but what would he have done then? At this point, he wasn't sure there was anything else he could've done. He could've gone home, tried to hang out with the children of the forest again, in fact he had tried that after meeting the princess. However, going back there only made him realise that he was no longer a part of their world. He tried to talk to people, but they seemed hollow, empty. He tried to recall what he did for fun before his quest began, but he couldn't remember. In fact, he struggled to recall any of his life prior to his quest. So he had just left the forest, realising he had no friends and nothing to do other than continue his task.

Every settlement he had been to, be it a city or a village, he had tried to settle down, tried to stop his exhausting journey, but he couldn't. It was as though someone had meddled with his brain, so that he saw everything as empty and meaningless unless it was his quest. But even his quest, his task, felt empt, but at least there was a sense of progress there, a feeling that it would eventually end. However, this did not make him feel any happier about it, it didn't make him feel as though he was any better off because he had this important task. The burden that he, a child, had to bear alone was horrendous. The fate of the world rested heavily on his shoulders, and it didn't have to be this way, if only he had been able to turn down the princess's request.

If he had been able to do that, the gems wouldn't have been collected and this dark sorcerer wouldn't have come to power. The boy tried to recall why he had collected the gems in the first place. Obviously, it was because the princess had told him to, but there must've been something more than that. Why had she told him to? Didn't she know it would help the sorcerer? And come to think of it, why was the princess so convinced that he was a bad guy. Was it because he was foreign, because he belonged to that desert tribe? That made her come across as more racist than wise. And her supposedly prophetic dream, well, the less said about her unshakeable faith in her own subconscious, the better.

But racism, that was an interesting topic. The boy's own race, not the forest children, he wasn't one of them, but the city people, were claimed to be the closest to gods. Perhaps this was what made them so arrogant, so sure of themselves, and what made the boy unable to bring himself to hurt them. He had killed before, he had slain intelligent creatures. They were reptilian, but they were vaguely humanoid and it was clear they had some rudimentary sentience. But he had killed them, nay, slaughtered them. He didn't kill the mountain people or the fish people, the forest people, or even those incredibly irritating guards at the palace. But if they looked evil enough, or if they weren't close enough to the gods, then he felt himself compelled to kill it. And he had killed so many things, sentient and otherwise that it scared him. Perhaps all he was good for was killing things and solving the occasional puzzle here and there. He certainly didn't have people skills, the ability to talk to and reason with others.

This brought him to another thought, one that irritated him considerably, it was to do with courage. He was said to be courageous, in that he could face powerful creatures much bigger than he was, and win. But the boy wasn't sure he had courage. To have courage, one must have fear, for courage was about having the strength to face one's fears. Have no fear, and you have no courage, and the boy wasn't sure he had fear. All he had was the vague certainty in the back of his head that he would survive his quest. Surprisingly, that knowledge didn't make him feel better, it just reminded him that the fates were using him, not even giving him a chance to fail.

And he might have welcomed death. He might have welcomed failure. Part of his lack of fear came from the acceptance of the fact that he couldn't lose, but it also came from the fact that he just didn't care. Why should he? He had no life of his own, he was just a puppet for the fates, the goddesses and the princess. He had no freedom, no life, just a quest and a longing for it all to end. Why should he care how it ended? He had tried to actually kill himself a couple of times. Once he had tried to stab himself with his own sword, but found himself unable to do it. Literally, unable to, as though his arms couldn't bend in the right way to do it. This made the boy almost positive that something had warped his mind. Then he had tried throwing himself from a great height, down a seemingly bottomless pit. He couldn't recall what happened, he had blacked out and couldn't remember the outcome. With so many holes in his memory, from the times he came close to death, to the times before his quest, he wondered if he was a real person. What if, he wondered, beneath this mask of mine there is truly nothing? What if the boy I think I am is just a mask too, and I am just a crude imitation of a living person.

These kinds of worries would keep an ordinary person up at night, but the boy found himself unable to rest anyway. Literally, he was incapable of unwinding and relaxing. In the same way that he was unable to do anything that detracted from his quest (which was slightly helpful with the quest, as he just did everything he was able to do, until it somehow led to helping him with his task at hand) he was also unable to do anything that gave him a break from his quest. Everything he did, or could do, only furthered it in some way. It would be hard to convey the true horror of it all, how tiring it was, not physically (magic dealt with that) but mentally. Real people needed rest and distractions, they needed time away from their tasks to be mentally healthy, but the boy had been going at this quest since he had last woken up. Perhaps that was why he was unable to do these things: unable to unwind, unable to socialise, unable to remember how to live.

The boy looked over his shoulder, back at the city. He longed for rest, but he doubted he would get it this side of the grave. His mind was worn down, exhausted, it had been so for a long time. However there was no peace, no rest, for him. If he was lucky he would find rest after the quest was over and he'd be able to sleep forever. Hopefully, when it was all over, he could find absolution, forgiveness, for all those that he had slaughtered for the princess. The knowledge that he had no choice when he used his blade didn't make him feel any better about it. The blood was on his hands, and their deaths were still vivid in his mind.

Part of him prayed for death, but part of him knew it could never come. Part of him felt remorse for all those he had killed, but part of him knew he would have to kill again. Part of him despised the world he was saving, but part of him hoped, for his own sake as much as the world's, that another part of him secretly hoped to save it.

The boy continued upon his quest...

_A hero's quest is a sad and tragic thing, but not for the reason that one normally expects. The business of being a hero wears down at their mind, body and soul, the burden they bear is too great for a normal man, and so they must become greater than any normal person. But, in doing so, they lose part of their humanity. This is the tragedy. For after they complete their quest, after they save the world, there is no longer a place for them in it. They have changed, they have become a hero, and the world no longer needs them. The best they can hope for is that there is another world, another place, in need of a hero. They can not go back to being normal, for the piece of their humanity that they traded away can not be easily reclaimed. Once one quest ends, another must begin, lest madness ensue. The best that they can hope for is that someday, somewhere; in the completion of another quest, they manage to reclaim a fragment of what they have lost._


End file.
